


Irish Whiskey

by HannahJane



Series: The Hand of the Goddess [7]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Fusion, Gen, Irish Mythology - Freeform, Mentions of Nick Burkhardt and Marie Kessler, Not Canon Compliant, mentions of minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahJane/pseuds/HannahJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farley Kolt is having a bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irish Whiskey

"I was wondering if you would show up." Farley Kolt used the toe of his boot to shove out the chair across the table. The dark-haired girl in the black motorcycle jacket paused for a moment, then with an eerie grace, swung the chair around, straddling it backwards. She took the charm off the table, glancing over the bones and herbs that he'd combined into the little cloth bag. Expressionless, she tossed it back onto the table, wiping her hands off on her pants leg like something greasy had gotten on her fingers. He imagined that ancient death magic had that effect on lots of deities.

 

"I bought you a drink. Y'know, in the hopes that you'd actually show up and put me out of my misery." He said, nodding towards the glass on the table, amber liquid gleaming inside. No hesitation this time as she reached for the glass, eyeing it for a minute before she took a sip. A look of surprise crossed her face as she swallowed and gave the glass in her hand another look, eyebrow arching.

 

"Midleton Very Rare? In Portland? I should be honored, but I have the feeling this is your way of groveling, Farley." Morgan said, her voice still the same as it had been the first time he'd heard it almost twenty-two years ago in Marie's kitchen.

 

_Raven black hair curling over bared ivory white shoulders, haunting green eyes, power so thick and intense that it threatened to choke him simply from her presence – "Farley, I'd like you to meet Morgan. She's a very old, very dear friend."_

_  
_

"Only the very best for the Goddess of Death." Farley shook himself out of the memory, raising his own glass in a mock toast. Morgan shook her head and took another drink of her whiskey, licking her lips to catch a loose droplet.

 

"You're drunk," she said, eyeing him over the top of the tumbler. He shrugged. It was no secret that he'd had one or two, helping him work up a little liquid courage to meet face to face with a goddess. Even _Steinadler_ were not immune to fear.

 

"It's been a long week." He said, staring over her shoulder at the mostly empty bar. Tuesday afternoon in a neighborhood pub was not happy hour by any stretch of the imagination. Morgan remained silent, gently swirling the contents of her glass. She looked like she could have been seventeen, but no one had approached her about ID yet and he wondered if they saw what he did when they looked at her.

 

"I saw him. Marie's nephew; the ruiner." He hadn't meant to sound so bitter when he said it. He didn't hate the kid… well, maybe he did a little bit. Maybe it was resentment, jealousy, one emotion out of a hundred that he felt rushing around in his mind. It certainly wasn't Nick's fault that his parents had run afoul of the Wesen world. Still, he couldn't bring himself to blame Marie for what happened, not yet, not with the knowledge of her death so fresh in his mind.

 

"You cast a summoning spell, a spell that I might add, will make you physically ill the moment I leave here. You cast this spell so that you could bring me here to complain about Nicholas Burkhardt?" Morgan didn't do emotion really well. Farley knew it from experience, had heard Marie talk about the marble countenance of her own personal guardian angel. Still, the goddess managed to pull off incredulous very well for being a living statue, Marie's words, not his.

 

"You keeping an eye on him too, Mórrígan?" He slurred her name a little bit, not entirely on purpose, the vodka in his own glass loosening his tongue, just like he'd intended. "'Cuz that didn't go so well for you last time. I mean, Marie died. That's not so much a win as a blaring mistake on what I'm sure is your otherwise pristine record."

 

"This is your great plan?" Farley blinked, finding the chair in front of him suddenly empty. The voice had come from behind him, smooth and confident. "Anger me until I swat you from existence with a wave of my hand? Suicide by goddess as it were?" Clutching his glass, Farley turned. Morgan was leaning against the pool table behind him, whiskey still in hand, looking relaxed and very much at home in the shadows.

 

"And here I thought I was being clever." He said, standing up from the table, lurching a little. Morgan shrugged, tripping lightly around the table until they were on opposite sides. She tossed back the rest of her drink, putting the empty glass on the edge of the pool table and then leaned over, resting her elbows on the green felt, staring up at him with those eyes. The light that hung over the pool table seemed to flare brighter, making her skin look like polished marble.

 

"What do you want, Farley?" she asked, her face inscrutable. He leaned down on the table like her, putting them face-to-face. It was time.

 

"Kill me." Even inches apart, he detected no reaction in her face. Nothing. She might as well have been Marie's living statue.

 

"Why?" flat tone, no inflection, nothing to hint at curiosity, just those glass green eyes staring at him, unblinking.

 

"I lost Marie, I lost the coins. I don't have anything to live for." He surprised himself by blurting out everything. He'd intended to spin a tale about Marie, about their love and how he just couldn't go on living. Instead, out came the truth… all of it.

 

"Playing with the coins of Zakynthos again?" Morgan said, straightening up. Farley stayed where he was, hunched over the table, peering up at her through the glow of the light while she moved back into the shadows. "Farley, that has not worked out well for you in the past. Although to be honest, that has not worked out well for anyone in the past. Those coins should have been destroyed centuries ago."

 

"You don't understand," Farley snapped, slamming his fist down on the table, straightening so suddenly, he almost hit his head on the hanging light. "You've never cared about someone like I cared about Marie. You don't understand that feeling of loss." The goddess circled the table again, moving silently on her booted feet. He forced himself not to shrink back.

 

"Farley," she was close enough that she could whisper in his ear, her warm body pressing hard against his side, hard enough for him to feel the outline of the knife tucked inside her jacket. "I made a promise a very long time ago that you would go unharmed even though I believe that I would be doing the _Wesen_ world a favor if I were to slit you open from head to toe right here and now. So do not presume, oh brave and blustery eagle, to tell me whom I care for."

 

"You didn't care about Marie. You never did." He said, clutching desperately at the vestiges of his plan. Morgan rested her chin on his shoulder, looking up at him through her eyelashes. The innocent gaze did nothing to mask the overwhelming power he felt boiling under her skin. He stiffened, imagining what came next: the knife sliding smoothly into his ribs, puncturing his heart, death quick and painless.

 

"I cared for Marie Kessler more than you could possibly understand." Her breath tickled his ear, the heat from her body pressed against his was dizzying. Or maybe that was the vodka. "Goodbye, Farley. If you have any sense left in that beaked head of yours, you will not summon me again."

 

His only hint that she was gone – other than the sudden loss of physical contact – was the roiling pain that erupted in his body. As he hit his knees, already feeling the magic work its way through his gut, payment for the spell that he'd worked, Farley smiled.

 

" _You're not human."_

 

" _Neither are you, Farley."_

 

" _I'm human enough."_

 

" _As am I, Farley. As am I."_

**Author's Note:**

> Episode tag for "Three Coins in a Fuchsbau."


End file.
